


The Other

by the_liar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3271760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_liar/pseuds/the_liar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven are the gods of man<br/>and seven are the sins.<br/>Each aspect shown to the world<br/>hides another face within.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vanity

The blue crushed velvet of his doublet perfectly accented his eyes. The cloth, slashed with black like claws drawn across a hide, was the latest fashion, popular in King's Landing but not as well known in the North. At least that was what the merchant visitors from White Harbor had stated, and Theon had found the fabric fine enough to be worth the coin they'd asked. Today he was only trying it on, ensuring it had the desired effect before he left with Ned Stark to Torrhen's Square. He'd heard that Ser Helman's daughter, Eddara, was quite beautiful, and he meant to have her.

Theon glanced at the reflection of Robb, sullen and draped across Theon's bed. Robb had wanted to come with them, but Ned hadn't allowed it. He'd stated that since Robb was almost 13, he was old enough to manage the affairs of the castle with the help of Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin. Theon had been grinning since he'd heard the news. For once, Robb was the one being left out.

“So what's the best tavern to visit in Torrhen?”

Robb popped his head up to glare at Theon's reflection. “How should I know?”

Theon tried to dampen his smile and failed. “Oh, that's right. You've never been.” He smoothed his hair behind his ears and made a mental note to get it cut before he left tomorrow. “Want me to bring you something? Maybe a gift from Eddara.” Theon had told Robb of his plan to bed her.

Robb's eyes darkened. “Father won't like you courting her.”

“Who says he'll know? I'm not planning on spending the whole three weeks with him.” If he looked as good as he did today, Eddara was sure to seek him out on her own.

Robb sat up stiffly. “She's not a servant. She's a lord's daughter. You can't just –” He waved his hand vaguely. “She's a maiden; you'd have to marry her.”

Theon laughed. “If I had to marry every maiden I fucked, I'd have three wives already. She'll pretend she's still got her virtue like all the rest.” Robb was frowning at him with a certain look in his eyes. The look was something new in the past year. When they were younger, if Robb was upset with Theon, he'd punch him. Now he got this look, and it was infuriating. Theon was tired of Robb's sulking. He wouldn't let it spoil his good mood.

“Get out of my room. I've got to finish packing.”

After a moment, Robb slid off the bed but didn't make for the door. Theon unbuttoned the doublet and shrugged it off, folded it and put it into the chest. When he straightened up, he noticed that Robb's reflection was staring at him, and he pulled at his shirt self-consciously.

“I said get –”

“Are you coming back?”

“Three weeks, Robb. It's not an eternity.”

Robb's eyes were wide. He looked almost afraid. “Yeah, but you're a man now. Are you really going to...?”

Theon's brow wrinkled in confusion. What was Robb...? Then he remembered. The first couple of years at Winterfell, Theon had been convinced he'd be free when he turned 16. That he was only at trapped Winterfell because he was a child and didn't have any say over his life. By now, he knew that none of that mattered. As long as Theon's father lived, he'd be kept prisoner here, and Ned was the only one who could free him. How naïve was Robb to still believe that nonsense?

“Now that you mention it, we'll be close to the coast. Might as well catch a ship to Pyke.” He spoke in an offhand way as if it were really that easy, keeping his back to Robb.

Robb grabbed his arm, suddenly angry. “How could you just leave like that? You said you'd take me out for my nameday.” And indeed Theon had. He'd promised to take Robb to The Green Dragon, an inn and tavern almost a day's ride from Winterfell. There was nothing particularly special about it, but Robb had been excited by the prospect anyway. Theon didn't even know if Ned and Catelyn would let him take Robb there. But Robb's eyes were growing wet, and Theon felt guilty. He pushed Robb away.

“Gods, it's just a joke. You really think your father would take me on this trip if he thought I'd leave? I'll be back in time to take you to the stupid tavern.” He grabbed some scarves and stuffed them into the chest, but when he straightened up, Robb hugged him, trapping one of Theon's arms between their bodies. Theon stood awkwardly, not wanting to hug him but not wanting to pull away either.

***

Reek could see his reflection in the mirror from the corner of his eye, but if he didn't look at it directly, he could pretend it was someone else. Some poor soul hobbling about the room. Reek might have felt sorry for him if he had any emotions left for others.

He was clutching some freshly tailored clothing pieces Ramsay'd had made for himself, hugging them to his body to prevent himself from dropping the heavy fabric. He was to store them in Ramsay's dressing room.

Reek had been present when Ramsay had spoken with the tailor. They'd waited in the antechamber while the tailor gathered supplies.

“ _Do I look better in pink or black?” Ramsay held up a couple of swatches against his skin._

_Reek paused a long while before answering, trying to figure out what wouldn't get him punished. He finally decided on, “M'lord looks good in anything.”_

_Ramsay gave him a withering look. “Of course, but which looks better?” He stared at himself in the mirror. “I suppose I'll have to get both.” Without turning away, he said, “Reek, get over here.” And Reek complied, stood behind Ramsay so that he didn't have to see himself in the mirror, but Ramsay pushed Reek in front. Reek stared at the floor, and Ramsay ran a hand over the thin, worn fabric of his tunic. Reek shivered at the touch._

“ _Would you like if I got you some new clothes too? You've been wearing those same rags for years.” He stuck his finger through a hole and wiggled. It tickled against Reek's skin._

_Reek's voice quavered as he answered. “I don't need anything else. These are fine.”_

“ _But you look so good in red.” Ramsay's breath was hot against his skin, and Reek was growing hot as well. But then he looked up to Ramsay's reflection, a mistake as he caught his own full on. The emaciated stranger with wide, fearful eyes stared back at him, and Reek felt himself growing sick._

_Reek heard the sound of someone clearing his throat behind them. Ramsay's hands slid off him, and mercifully, Reek was able to tear himself away from the mirror._

He lay the clothing on a table in the dressing room and did his best to fold them neatly. The furniture in the room was arranged differently, some items taken out completely and others replaced after they'd been damaged by the fire, but Reek knew whose room this was, whose room it had been. He tried to avoid that thought, but it was ever present. The room even smelled the same, though it was overlain with the acrid scent of smoke.

But it wasn't that man's room anymore. All the clothing in here belonged to Ramsay and his new wife. He'd had dresses made for her as well. Expensive items that she'd never wear. She wouldn't even leave her room, and Reek had to bring her her meals, bathe her. Every time he saw the broken look in her eyes, her fading beauty, even Reek had to go away, and he performed his chores as a husk, stiffly scrubbing, clumsy hands slipping over the marks on her flesh, the fresh wounds and the old.

Reek felt something rise up in his throat, and before he could think, his remaining fingers were tearing at the fabric of the pink and black slashed doublet. Threads popped, and the sleeve tore. Reek stared at it, thinking it was almost worth the punishment that was sure to follow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter is "Envy" and will be posted within the week.


	2. Envy

The sun shone hot today, and Theon was sweating under the rough padding covering his body. He tightened his grip on the wooden sword. Robb stood before him in the same grey padding, at least a head shorter than him. Though he'd always been taller, Theon had shot up in height recently and now towered over the younger boy. They were sparring in a corner of the training yard, close to the short wooden fence that surrounded its perimeter. At a distance, men-at-arms fought with metal practice swords, and Ser Rodrik leaned against a shed, watching them all, but keeping a closer eye on the two lordlings.

The sparring match would be an easy win. It always was against the younger boy, so Theon was drawing it out. He was supposed to be teaching Robb how to fight tougher opponents after all. Robb thrust his bit of wood toward Theon's chest, and Theon brought his own down lazily to knock it aside. Sword play with Robb or Jon could be infuriatingly dull. Though sparring with Ser Rodrik or one of the men-at-arms was a little better, Theon preferred archery. He liked to watch his opponent, often a bird, from afar and wait for the perfect moment to strike.

Robb slashed at his arm, and Theon sidestepped it, causing the boy to overreach. And then Robb was teetering on one foot. Theon swung his sword arm around the boy's back, shifting his weight to bring his full force crashing into him. Robb slammed into the ground face first.

Theon looked up grinning to Ser Rodrik, but he was running over. He took Robb's hand to pull him up, but the boy's legs didn't stay under him, so the knight settled him to a seat on the ground. He was pale and gasping, blood running from his lip, which had split open. Theon realized with a sinking feeling that he'd probably hit him too hard.

“Are you all right, my lord?” Rodrik kept a hand on Robb's shoulder. The boy nodded though his face began to crumple. As he sobbed, a couple of men fighting nearby eyed them surreptitiously, and one of the younger men stared openly, his sword hanging at his side.

Ser Rodrick barked at him, “Turn around, Hallin. Your opponent will take your head if you forget yourself in battle. And if he doesn't, then I will.”

The man colored and mumbled, “Yes, m'lord,” before turning back to his sparring partner.

Rodrik turned a look of fury on Theon. “Just what did you think you were doing hitting him as hard as you could? I told you to use half your strength.”

The sinking feeling in Theon's gut curdled. If it had been him on the ground, Rodrik wouldn't have given him a second glance. “It's not my fault! He was falling anyway.”

“Then why did you hit him? This is a training match, not a battle. What did he learn from that blow in the back?”

“I'm fine!” Robb yelled through his sobbing.

“How's he ever going to learn to fight for real if you keep babying him? Anybody would take that hit in a real fight.” If Robb had beaten Theon bloody, Rodrik would have congratulated him and bragged about it to Ned over dinner.

“He's _ten years old_. You'll be a man soon, but no one will ever see you as one if you whine and carry on like a child.”

“I'm not a child!” Robb cried and shoved Rodrick's hand off him.

What did Rodrik know about know about how to be a man? He meant for Theon to act like a wolf, but the iron born did not shy away from showing their true strength. It was not uncommon there for men to die while sparring. They did what was necessary to win. And if a man couldn't hold his own, he didn't deserve to live anyway.

Robb stood in the most dignified manner that a crying boy could, refusing help from Ser Rodrik. His face was red and wet, and blood and tears were dripping from his chin. Anger shot through Theon as he looked at the crying boy. He was weak, spoiled from being the Starks' only son for so long.

Theon grinned at him, viciously. “Lady Catelyn still has a free teat. Why don't you go join Bran?”

“ _Theon!_ ” Rodrik barked the name in such a way that Theon knew he'd get a beating later. But he didn't care.

At the same time, Robb cried out and charged him, looking not the slightest bit scary with his little wooden sword, and Theon shoved him over as soon as he was within arm's reach. Rodrik snatched at Theon, but he threw down his sword and ran off, jumping the short wooden fence of the training yard.

He dodged around some washer women, making them gasp and almost spill their buckets, and when he glanced back, Ser Rodrik didn't seem to be following him. Up ahead, he saw Jon walking in his direction, but when Jon saw his face, he turned and sprinted off the other way. Theon considered chasing him, but he wasn't in the mood. He wanted to go to the godswood and chop down the stupid heart tree. But he didn't have an ax, so he just went to the pool by the tree and sulked.

He sat there for a long time, and just when he was feeling bored enough to go back and take his beating, something hit him in the back of the head and rolled to a stop just in front of him, an apple. He turned around to see Robb standing with another in his hand, dried blood caked over his chin.

“That's for calling me a baby!” Robb chunked the other at him, missing this time, and ran off again.

Theon considered ignoring him, but instead grabbed up the apples and chased after him grinning. There's no way he'd let Robb get away without pelting him with an apple himself.

 

***

 

It was cold in his chamber, _Ned's chamber_ , but Theon was sweating anyway. He'd been pacing for the last hour. Every time he stopped, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, so fast he worried it might burst, and he had to start again. The armies of the North were assembling. They'd march on him any day, and still his sister hadn't shown her face.

He 'd left Urzen outside his door, told him to allow no one in. He simply had to think, and a solution would come to him. He'd taken Winterfell in a day after all, using only his wits and a scant number of men. Keeping it should be no more difficult. If he could stave the armies off for long enough, they might be called south to fight. Anyway, Robb had the rest of the North. It was spiteful to begrudge him this one victory.

It _would_ be a victory, had to be. He only had to keep his men motivated, but that was growing more difficult. They didn't trust Theon to keep them safe, not after three of their own had been murdered. But Theon had had no choice about that. He only wished that the man Reek would have the good sense to die as well after killing them. He ought to be executed, but how could that be done safely? Reek knew all his secrets. He had the power to turn his men against him, to make Theon a laughing stock once the North learned that the Stark boys had outwitted him and escaped.

“M'lord prince?”

Theon jumped and whirled on the man. He seemed to have a sense for when Theon needed to be alone, as he always appeared in those moments. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He raised his voice. “Urzen, why did you let this man in?!”

Reek had a look of vague amusement on his face. “No one's out there. Might be he got called away. There's a fight going on outside.”

Theon stormed to the window and looked down on the ward. Lorren, damn him, was arguing with Kromm, pushing him. Urzen was trying to keep them apart. One of the Frey boys was there as well, no telling why. He turned back to Reek. “Leave me alone. I came here to think.”

“Been thinking too, m'lord. Think I could help you.”

“When I want to know what a manservant thinks, I'll come ask you. Until then, get out of my sight.” Anger flashed over Reek's face before disappearing, and that ignited something in Theon. The man was growing much too insolent. Theon had to rid himself of him the first chance he got. He opened his mouth to tell the man to leave again, but Reek spoke first.

“Bet your hands are soft as a child's.” He gave Theon an odd look.

Theon sputtered but finally got out, “What?!”

“I meant, I bet you never labored a day in your life.”

Theon glared at him. “Of course not. Who do you think –”

“Think you'd figure out how to if someone put you in a field?”

The conversation was making Theon's hair stand on end. “I'm not an idiot. Stop speaking to me as if I am.”

“That's exactly my point. I'm not an idiot either. I know what you need.” Something about the man's tone had changed. Theon's heart was pounding in his ears again, and he yelled to hear himself over the noise.

“I've already told you twice to leave. Get the fuck out of here!”

“Yes, m'lord prince. Sorry for bothering you.” Reek turned to the door but then whirled around and pinned Theon against the wall. The man was larger than him and terrifyingly strong. An image flashed in Theon's mind of the man slitting his throat and creeping away before anyone saw it was him, just as he'd done to Aggar. But the man didn't pull out a knife. He leaned close to Theon, close enough that his hair brushed Theon's face and the scent of soap filled his nostrils.

He whispered, “Must be used to having your problems solved for you. Get your father or your sister, one of your highborn friends. Or if they won't, one of the hundreds of men that do all the work for you. Too bad no one's gonna fix this for you now.” He ran a hand up the inside of Theon's thigh, and Theon grabbed his wrist before Reek could reach his crotch.

Theon girded his voice as he hissed. “Get your hands off of me.” What was the man thinking? What had he heard about Theon?

Reek leaned back, ran his pale eyes over Theon's body like a man might with a whore. “After all I've done for you, think I deserve something in return.”

Theon's hand pulled on the man's wrist, shoved at him with the other, but it was like pushing a wall. “All you've done for _me_?” His voice arced into a higher register. “I freed you from prison, gave you a place among my men. I could just as easily have you killed.” He couldn't see how he could stop the man. His dagger was on his nightstand, but it might as well have been a feather for all the good it did him from here. At the same time, he prayed that no one would enter the room and see him like this.

“Just try and see what happens.” The man twisted his wrist around and caught Theon's instead and pressed himself forward until Theon could feel his arousal, smell the earthy scent of roughspun.

And Theon was growing hard too, from anger, it must be. Reek pinned Theon's hands with one of his own, and he struggled, pushed against him. Reek's hand was on his laces, brushing against Theon's cock. Theon couldn't suppress a gasp.

“When my...when Urzen comes back, he'll –” The man pushed his hand down Theon's breeches, drew his nails hard across Theon ass, and Theon's hips jolted forward against him. Pleasure burned through him, but anyone might enter the room with no one guarding. If they saw... “Gods, stop!” He wrenched in the man's grip.

Then the door was opening, and Theon's heart clenched. And then there was Wex, standing in the doorway, Theon's sword clutched in his hand, and his mouth gaping open.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading and kudosing and whatnot! I'm super insecure about my writing, so it really helps keep me motivated. Next chapter is Wrath and will be posted a week from today.


	3. Wrath

Everything was horrible here. There was no ocean to swim in, no smell of salt in the air. The food was inedible: rich dishes of mutton or aurochs that made Theon sick. There were no creaking bridges to play Chase on, no clusters of jagged rocks for Crabs and Dolphins, no Asha to annoy. And worst of all were the Starks. Ned, who only spoke to Theon to correct or punish him, Catelyn, who glared at him if he deigned to speak to _her_ , Robb and Jon, so rarely seen apart that it took Theon a few weeks to learn which was the bastard and which was the heir, and the two girl babes who barely seemed worth mentioning.

Theon had decided that he'd run away as soon as he could and make his way back home. He spent his free time in the godswood, the only place he could be alone, plotting. That day, however, he'd taken a break from plotting to chuck rocks at the swarm of squirrels that made their home in the trees. He got _so_ close to hitting one, but it was startled away by a burst of boys' yells. Robb and Jon popped out from a dense cluster of tree trunks. They dodged between branches and hopped over roots, fighting an epic battle with sticks. Theon clutched a rock, considered throwing it at them, but he thought he'd get beaten if he hit Robb.

Just the sight of them made him angry. When they sat together at meals, Robb would stare openly at him as if he were some freak, and the bastard would frown at him. Neither of them had spoken more than a handful of words to him and those only pleasantries at the behest of Ned or Maester Luwin. A guest might think that Theon was a servant from the way the Starks treated him. Well, no more. Theon ran up to the boys, an idea forming in his mind. He'd give them a taste of what iron born were made of.

Jon knocked Robb's stick out of his hand, and Robb opened his mouth as if to argue a broken rule when he noticed Theon.

“Hey,” Theon said.

Robb blinked and said, “Hi.” Jon fidgeted with his stick.

“Want to play a game?”

Robb cocked his head and stood up straighter. “What game?”

“Just a game we played on Pyke,” Theon said smiling. Jon frowned at him.

“How do you play?” Robb asked, not bothering to confirm with his half-brother.

“Someone has to be 'it.'” Theon shrugged and pointed to Jon. “Guess you can go first.”

Jon looked uncertainly between the two of them, chewing his lip. “What do I do?”

“Just go up to a tree, cover your eyes, and count to 50.”

Robb rolled his eyes. “That's just Seeker. We've played that hundreds of times. It's stupid.”

Theon shook his head. “It's not Seeker.” And to Jon. “Go count already.”

Jon gave him a sullen look but walked over to a tree and started counting. Theon walked a distance away and waved Robb over. When Robb got close, Theon whispered to him, “When he's done counting we'll chase him over toward the face tree.”

Robb looked confused. “So we're playing Chase? Why's he counting?”

Theon sighed loudly. “It's _not_ Chase. We don't win when we catch him; we win when we knock him in the spring.”

“Then he chases us?”

“Shh, he's almost done!”

They crept back toward Jon, Robb still looking a bit puzzled.

Jon finished counting and turned around, hesitated on seeing the two of them standing there. “Why aren't you hiding?”

Theon grinned. “Told you it was different than Seeker.” And to Robb. “Get him!” Theon charged at Jon, whose eyes grew wide. Jon dashed away, but it was in the wrong direction. They'd have to cut him off. “Robb, to the left!” And later, “Get behind him!”

Together they zagged Jon closer to the pool by the heart tree, Theon directing Robb like a master-at-arms. But as soon as Jon saw the water, he cut to the side. Theon sprinted to catch him and knocked him down. “Come get his arms!”

Jon was punching him, squirming and pushing. “Stop! Let me go!” So Theon kicked him a couple times in the stomach until he doubled over and clutched his gut. He added, “Shut up, bastard!” for good measure.

By then Robb was there, clutching Jon's arms, and he looked surprised but echoed, “Yeah, bastard!” And together they lifted him, the weight of his torso dragging on Robb's side.

“No, no no no nononono!” Jon squirmed frantically when they reached the edge of the pool.

“On three! One...two...!” And they tossed him into the pool. Jon sank like a stone and came up gasping and flailing. The pool wasn't very wide, but he kept splashing around and bobbing under and up, thrashing in the same spot where they threw him. He looked like a seal getting its tail eaten by a shark. Like he couldn't reach the side even though it was a only a few feet away.

Robb was crouched down at the edge of the pool, staring at Jon with his mouth gaping open, and he looked up to Theon in alarm. Theon shrugged. Even babes could swim farther than that. Theon himself had played Crabs and Dolphins in the churning water of the sea since he was four, occasionally getting his foot caught between the jagged rocks. Jon would free himself if he was stuck.

Finally, Jon got his hand on a branch that hung low over the water and clung to it coughing. Once he caught his breath, he inched himself across to the edge of the pool. But as he neared land, his hand slipped on the slick green muck coating the branch, and he slid under. Bubbles floated up where his head had disappeared into the dark water.

Then a pale hand surfaced and grabbed the edge of the pool. Jon dragged himself out and clutched the ground, chest heaving and hair dripping. Robb stared at Jon and looked as if he wanted to say something, but then Jon started sobbing like a child.

Theon laughed “Why don't you play dolls with the girls?” Robb's mouth snapped shut, and Jon glared up at Theon, shaking.

“Fuck you!” He choked out and hobbled off. Robb watched him go with wide eyes and stood silently after he left.

After awhile, Robb said, “What's that game called?”

Theon thought for a moment. His brothers never gave it a name. He finally answered, “Beat the bastard.”

 

***

 

Despite the ever present stench of human waste, Theon was starving. He'd lost track of time, but it felt like ages since he'd gotten more than a sip of water to fill his stomach.

He was shackled to a cold stone floor, alone save for the occasional man that cracked the cell door and slid him a basin of water or emptied the bucket he used as a toilet. The men wouldn't speak a word to him, no matter how loudly Theon screamed. He wondered at times if this all was a nightmare or a fit of madness. But the gnawing at his stomach, the ache of his wrists, the cold stone against his back assured him it was real.

His cell had no windows, nothing to determine the time of day, so he slept at all hours. He was dozing when the cell door opened, and the light of a torch blinded him. He jerked his head away to cover his eyes and heard footsteps approaching.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it was so dry he only croaked. He cleared it and tried again, and his voice sounded weaker than he'd meant. “If you don't feed me soon, I'll die.” The only sound he heard was the shuffling of bodies.

Theon spoke again, louder. “Who are you?”

A voice Theon would recognize anywhere made his stomach clench further. “Don't you remember me?” It was the man Reek, or rather, the bastard Ramsay Snow.

Anger bubbled up in him. “What do you mean by keeping me here? Iron born are everywhere in the North. They'll come for me. You can't –”

“Haven't seen a sign of them. We must have missed them.” A man Theon didn't recognize, voice full of amusement.

“Damon, don't insult our guest. I'm sure they're on their way. Perhaps as many as 30 men.”

Theon cursed himself. Of course Ramsay knew their numbers were limited. But still, his father wouldn't leave him here. His only remaining son, he couldn't. “You'll want to treat with them. You need me for –”

“That's why I'm here. It's come to my attention that you've been mistreated. Unfortunately, some of my men mistook you for a stable boy. I came as soon as I heard of course.” He spoke in a flat tone, as if the situation wasn't of much interest to him.

_A stable boy._ It was nonsense. Theon was still clad in a leather jerkin with the kraken of House Greyjoy engraved on the breast. Perhaps Lord Bolton had demanded that Theon be treated better, and Ramsay had to come up with an excuse.  _Or maybe Robb..._

His eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the light. He saw the expansive figure of Ramsay in the middle of the cell. Hovering closer to Theon was another man, crouched with his hands on his knees, the light glinting off his hair. And by the door, a third stood, apparently silent the entire time. He was shorter than the others, perhaps a boy, and had a sickly look in the way he stood, sort of stooped.

Theon cleared his throat. “You'll take me to better quarters?”

“Of course. Remove his shackles, Damon.”

The fair haired man jumped forward, and Theon caught the scent of leather and horses. He slid a key into the latch. The metal slid off his wrists and clanged to the floor, and the light of the torch gleamed off Damon's teeth. “After you, m'lord.”

Theon pushed himself to his feet, his knees creaking. He stretched his arms and rubbed his wrists, but it didn't make him feel any better. The others were watching him.

“I'll need something to eat as well.” Theon spoke with more confidence than he felt. He was dizzy and felt like he might fall just as easily as take a step.

“Of course.” Ramsay repeated. “We'll fill you up tonight.”

Damon sniggered, and Theon didn't move. He remembered the feel of Ramsay pressed against him in Ned's chamber, felt his heart thudding. They were staring at him, the light catching on their eyes. Even the boy in the doorway, still and silent as stone. He was the only one Theon had any chance of taking without a weapon.

Damon nudged his shoulder. “Your room's waiting, m'lord.”

In any other place, Theon would have bristled at the man rushing him, but his blood felt like ice. He stepped toward the door with his head up but arms close. No one reached out to stop him. Theon slowed down as he approached the boy. The light was better here, and Theon could see he had large eyes in a pale face. But those eyes were lined with the start of wrinkles and strands of grey striped the dark hair clinging to his forehead. He was a man after all.

Theon edged by him and then he was in an empty hallway, dimly lit with torchlight and lined with closed cells. One door hung open at the end of the hall.

The sickly man spoke, and Theon almost jumped. “That's the one.” He pointed toward the open cell. In the light from the torches, his skin looked pale enough to be translucent. He was an undeniably ugly man, but he was thin and short. It had to be that man. If they meant to kill him.

He turned toward the cell and heard the men following behind him. They'd be caught up in the doorway now. Theon heard a tch, and the voice of Damon, “Forgot my whip.”

Theon shoved himself against the short man, knocked him back into Ramsay, but Ramsay pushed the man off himself as if he were a bit of straw on his clothes. The man slammed against the wall and clutched his head.

Two men-at-arms, one the size of a child and the other looked who younger than Theon, bumbling about and ordering him around, and the bastard Ramsay. The execution party for a prince, for a king's heir. Well he wouldn't go so easily. He snarled and snatched a torch off the wall, grabbed the small man by the neck, and brought the fire to the man's face, felt the inferno as if it was held next to his own skin. The man stiffened in his arms, and Ramsay stood before them, amusement flickering over his face.

Damon leaned against the doorway, laughing. “Got yourself caught, Skinner? Go ahead and burn him. Couldn't make him any uglier.”

The hairs on the the man's head were singing, and the stench made Theon gag. His hand shook, and the torch dipped closer. He could only see the man's profile, a shining eye too large for his face, pale cheek glistening with sweat. And he thought of the boys, the way the fire charred their skulls. The way their eyes sizzled and dripped down empty faces. And the _stench_.

Theon clenched the torch stiffly, couldn't move. Sweat dripped off his chin and popped in the flame. And the horror in his arms locked its empty gaze on Theon. Spoke in a voice from a nightmare, a deep and strangled whisper. “You'll only make things worse for yourself.”

From far away, he heard the bastard's voice. “Do it.”

And then Damon lunged at him, wrapped an arm around Theon's neck and a hand around his arm. Theon struggled against him, felt his arm pressed back toward himself, felt the heat reach scorching levels, smelled flesh burning.

And a scream, but it wasn't his own. Theon twisted frantically. He had to get away from the smell, away from the eyes. He threw the men off himself and ran blindly. Heard shouts from behind him. He reached stairs, black as water on a moonless night, and ran up those too. He tripped and banged his knee but barely felt it. He scrambled up and stopped himself just before slamming headfirst into a door. He threw it open and ran through, the only thought in his mind to find a sword.

Stone walls surrounded him, bright after the darkness of the stairway, and the smell of smoke, meat, and yeast lingered in the air. He dashed through the hall, almost ran into a boy but shoved him aside at the last second, didn't wait to see if he fell.

Everything was so empty and quiet. Theon felt himself swimming through the air as if in a dream. He stumbled through an open doorway, but it was just a kitchen. He heard a scream and whirled around to see a tall woman wearing stained roughspun. She clutched the counter, eyes wide, and Theon's arm was jerked hard behind him.

A voice close to his ear. “It's a shame. I called off all my guards tonight just for the Prince of Winterfell, and he couldn't even make it out the front gate.”

Theon stomped down on a foot, heard a grunt and was shoved to the floor, tasted blood.

“And you didn't even have the stomach to kill a man. Though Damon might have taken care of that for you. Or Skinner. I didn't wait to see who won.”

Theon pushed himself to his knees, gave a bloody grin, a sense of madness filling him. “The bastard couldn't take me on his own. Had to bring his friends.”

Ramsay kicked him in the gut. Theon cried out and dropped down to the floor.

“Call me bastard again.”

“Bas–” Ramsay grabbed his hair and cracked his head against the stone. Electricity shot across his face. Ramsay flipped him over, and Theon could barely see through the pain. He sneered up at Ramsay, but it felt more like a grimace. Blood filled his mouth, and the kitchen grew dark, Ramsay no more than a shadow above him. A heavy hand rested on his chest, and it felt almost soothing as he fell into blackness.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading! This is my first time posting anything since I was a kid, and I'm having a blast writing for you guys. And as always, kudos, comments, etc. mean so much to me. <3 
> 
> Next chapter is Lust and will be posted in a week.


	4. Lust

The moon was full tonight and though the couple lay in shadow, Theon could make out Mollen's stout figure and Lyna's lithe one. She swam over the man, clutching at his arms, his chest, his face. Her ass, white and round, danced invitingly toward Theon. Theon had watched that ass pressing its form indelibly against the skirt of her shapeless dress, watched her shining brown hair dip into the wooden tub as she scrubbed before she tossed it back, only for it to fall free again. Watched the sweat drip down her face, below the neck of her dress, into the dark hollow.

Theon had worked his charm on her for months to no avail. He could find no reason for her faithfulness to Mollen. She was only his lover, not his wife. Mollen wasn't rich or handsome or...much of anything really. But she met him every night in the shadows behind the stable where Theon had a clear view of their lovemaking from his room. He didn't watch them every night. If he had a girl, he would fuck her. But if he didn't, the view of the couple was sufficient entertainment. And he could forgive Lyna for her idiocy in preferring Mollen, at least in the time it took him to finish.

Tonight he was watching crouched beside the window, a bottle of wine in his hand, the rim still wet from the hesitant sip Robb had taken. The fourteen year old boy beside him had finally gotten bit taller, shoulders broadened, but still the same red waves framed the boyish face, blue eyes, and red lips. His cheeks were also red, far too soon for the bit of wine he'd drank to be affecting him, and he stared stolidly downward.

Theon took another draft and nudged Robb with the bottle. “You can stare at your feet in your own room, you know?”

Robb's eyes darted over to Theon, out the window, and back at his feet. Theon hadn't told him what exactly they'd be doing in the room beyond sharing a bottle of wine that he'd stolen from the kitchen.

“Do they know...?” Robb's voice was soft as he gestured toward the window.

Theon grinned. “They ask me every morning to rate their performance.”

Robb glared at him, uncurled his hunched shoulders. “Coupling isn't a show. It's a private –”

“ _Coupling_? Was it Catelyn or Ned that told you to call it that?” Theon nudged Robb again to take the bottle, and Robb snatched it with an indignant look.

“They were talking about you,” he muttered. He shifted the bottle between his hands without taking a drink. “Why would you...? I mean, what's the point of sleeping with someone you don't care about?”

Theon leaned back on his hands and watched as Lyna arched her back, breasts bouncing against her chest. “Once you lose your maidenhead, you'll get it.”

“I _have_.”

Theon laughed and turned back to Robb's cherry red face. “With Willow in the godswood? That's a bit sacrilegious for you.”

Robb glared down at the bottle. He still hadn't take a sip. “I have.”

Theon snatched the wine back from him. “Tell me about your love then. How did her breasts feel? Or did she have any at all? She looks like a stick, fits her name at least.” Theon didn't expect much of a response. Robb had been vague about the details each time it was brought up.

Robb huffed. “Why would I shame her like that?”

“I doubt a kitchen wench even knows what the word means.” Theon finished off the bottle and threw an arm around Robb. “Let's go to the Smoking Log tomorrow. The whores are cheap enough for you to lose your maidenhood to five at once.”

Robb shoved Theon away from him. “I told you I have already!”

Theon's hand slipped from under him, and he fell against the wall and lay there laughing. “Have you even kissed a girl before?”

“Of course I have. Need a demonstration before you'll leave me alone?” Robb's face glowed in the light from the window. He'd begun to lose the childish chubbiness of his cheeks, but they were still smooth. From this angle, he looked like an older version of Sansa. It was an uncomfortable thought, so Theon brushed it aside.

“I'm just saying you have to learn it somewhere. Think about how disappointed your wife would be if you didn't even know where to stick your sword.”

“ _Everyone_ _knows_ –” Robb glanced nervously out the window and lowered his voice. “I'm not a child anymore.” He looked so serious that Theon couldn't stop himself from laughing again. “ _Stop_.” Robb crawled over to him, fisted a hand in Theon's shirt. “It's not funny! I'll be lord someday. You can't keep treating me like a boy.”

Theon patted Robb's hand. “Oh my dear sweet lordling, of course you're not a boy. I mean, just because your mother won't let you spar with metal –”

Robb wound his other hand around Theon's shoulder and shook him. “Stop!”

“– and you blush like a maiden every time fucking is mentioned –” Theon's voice beat in time with Robb's shaking. “– and you still haven't beaten me in a fight. Not even once.”

Robb brought his hand back to punch him, and Theon surged up, grabbed his arms and wrenched him toward the ground. Robb pushed back, caught himself one one teetering arm before Theon could overtake him. Theon wrapped his legs around Robb's waist and jerked him to the side. A year ago, that move would have pinned him, but Robb elbowed him in the chest, twisted out of his grasp. Heavy breaths filled the air between them. Robb jammed a knee across Theon's waist, pressed Theon's shoulders into the floor. His fingers were warm through the silk of his shirt, his nails sharp against Theon's flesh. Theon felt overheated with the wine flowing through him, and Robb like a hearth on top of him, looking down with unblinking wide blue eyes. Robb's thighs around his waist were smothering and the hands on his shoulders frustratingly still. But then Theon felt them uncurl, rest against him. Robb's lips parted, but Theon wouldn't let him claim a victory. The wine burned in his stomach as he wrapped a hand around Robb's neck. And Robb, oddly enough, leaned toward him, made it easier for Theon to grab his leg and flip him onto his back.

He held Robb there grinning and breathing heavily. “Still bigger, still stronger.”

Robb starred up at the ceiling frowning as if he couldn't bear to look at Theon. “Let me go.”

Theon laughed. “You didn't say 'please.'” He crawled over Robb to sit on his chest and saw a bulge in Robb's breeches. His heart caught in his throat for a moment, but he swallowed it down and laughed again. “So that's why you're still a maid.” He allowed Robb to shove him away.

Robb scooted up against the wall, curled in on himself. “I've had it from watching the girl,” he said, unconvincingly.

“Me too.” Theon winked and grabbed himself. “Mind if I relieve myself?”

Robb's eyebrows shot up, and he blushed redder than Theon had ever seen. Then his eyes narrowed. He stood up. “Fuck you, Theon,” he muttered and walked toward the door.

Theon stopped him. This was definitely the most entertaining discovery he could have made about the boy. He couldn't let it go without messing with him. “That's the idea right?”

“You're not funny.” Robb hissed.

“So do you have to hide this anytime we're together, or is it only when we're sparring?” Theon made to grope him, and Robb twisted to the side, shoved him hard.

“Just leave it!” He stormed to the door, but Theon put a hand out to stop him, buried another in his hair and crushed his lips against Robb's. Robb felt so stiff in his arms, he might be dead, but Theon sucked on his lip, pushed his tongue against the clenched teeth. Robb's mouth parted with a heavy breath, he wrapped an arm around Theon's back, placed another gently on his hip, and pressed his tongue against Theon's with short, tentative strokes.

Theon explored Robb's mouth, the large smooth teeth that awkwardly clacked against his own, the tongue too timid to venture into Theon's mouth. The soft wet lips that slid over his own, that gave way easily to a nibble.

He slid a hand down Robb's chest, over the familiar but growing swells of muscle, over the smooth flatness of his stomach, to the undiscovered bulge in his pants. Robb inhaled so sharply it was a wonder he didn't choke on his own tongue. Theon felt a hint of wetness in the thin cloth that covered the warm solid flesh. He squeezed it, felt Robb push up against his hand.

Then he brought his hands to Robb's shoulder, pushed him back, looked him in his eyes, so dark in the shadow that they looked almost black. Theon tingled all over, felt a sheen of sweat on his skin.

“That's pretty disgusting, you know? Lusting after me like that. But don't worry. I won't tell Ned.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry, I think there's something wrong with the second part of the chapter. I'm gonna sit on it for a bit and fiddle with it and hopefully post it and the next chapter next weekend. Back to my previous notes:
> 
> OMG, thanks everyone! I feel so loved. <3 You have no idea how happy all the kudos and comments make me!
> 
> This chapter was kind of intense to write, but next week's will be a little more lighthearted. It's called Sloth. Thanks for reading!
> 
> By the way, I'm working to improve as a writer, and I do my editing myself (through lack of a beta), so it's hard for me to tell if I'm actually getting across what I'm meaning to in my work. If you find anything (or everything) confusing, weird, unrealistic, or just plain bad, I'm more than happy to receive constructive criticism in comments as well. And if anyone knows of a good forum for AOOO writers, let me know. :P


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